residue
by Amenah
Summary: He will always be an emotionally manipulative bastard, and she will always have more issues than Vogue. — modern!au, natsu/lucy. for Abby.


**title:** residue  
**summary:** He will always be an emotionally manipulative bastard, and she will always have more issues than Vogue. — modern!au, natsu/lucy

**dedication:** to my darling **mirajens **(_thisisn'tmiraxusbutwecanpretend_)  
**muse:** let her go (cover) — boyce avenue and hannah trigwell  
**notes:** It's… very messy. The dysfunction is ridiculous. A tad nonsensical. Apologies all round for this one, really.

* * *

:

**residue**

:

It is only four and a half hours into the wedding — after she's spilled red wine on her damned blue dress and been smacked in the face by the bride's bouquet; after she's watched him spoon-feeding wedding cake with icing brighter than his damned pink hair to his new bride; after she's successfully given the speech he had her write over a damned year ago — that Lucy concedes she really, _really_ shouldn't have come.

She can't deal with this any longer.

The receipt for the black dress she bought for her father's funeral is still valid. It has only been worn once. Most people don't even know yet, although that's a given considering she hasn't told anyone except for him.

But there stands Laxus on the obnoxiously gilded stage, ever the begrudging host at his in-law's reception, announcing it into the microphone in a slightly exasperated voice. And of course it's traditional for the bride to take the floor first, but Mr Strauss is just a two-decade memory, so Lucy watches Makarov's face stretch into an impossibly wider smile across the room, as if taking Lisanna's hand at that moment is the only thing that could have made this night any better.

Lucy takes a deep breath, and leans against the wall. The wine's starting to taste a little bitter. She sips slowly, and pretends her wan smile doesn't match the flavour.

She knows he's watching her. And she knows it's not out of concern for a girl who just lost her parent.

Ha. That's hilarious. Him? Concerned for _her_?

The smile, slow to come, is forced to stay where it is. Her eyes won't stray from the dancefloor. She will not meet his gaze.

.

.

.

.

.

In some other world, she definitely could have been happy for them. In some world when everything and everyone was different, and Lucy didn't know him the way she does, and Lisanna wasn't sick the way she is, and he hadn't fallen in love with the _wrong one first_.

Although truth be told, she doesn't know if she'd be happy for them even in some world where she wasn't the wrong one. Lucy's just possessive like that.

But common courtesy demands that he marry the dying one, right? Isn't that how it is?

She inhales deeply, letting her lungs burn with smoke.

She really disgusts herself.

The girl's dying, they're childhood sweethearts, Lucy's her _bridesmaid_, for fuck's sake. Is she really going to do this?

Well, she already is. This damned _game_ they always play. Because it is just like that, isn't it? It's just like a game between stupid little kids, seeing who can take the most pain before they back out. Except they're not kids; they're twisted, fucked up adults who love like rivals and fight like lovers.

She lets out a quiet hum of discomfort when the heat of the cigarette threatens her fingers. It's almost burned out already.

She really… _really_ can't deal with it any longer.

.

.

.

.

.

"Where are you going?"

Her body tenses reflexively. "I just stepped out for a smoke, Natsu. I'm not running away."

"No-one said anything about running away."

"Hmm." She glances over, looking him in the eye for the first time that night, before turning away to crush the smoked-out butt. She expects him to go back inside; and still Lucy can't find it in herself to be surprised when he elects to lean against the alley wall beside her instead. She doesn't hold back her smirk. "Your bride will start wondering where you are."

Natsu rolls his shoulders leisurely, ignoring her. A low rumble sounds from his throat as the tension in his muscles is relieved. When she raises an eyebrow at him, he catches it. "What?" He cracks his neck. "I can't get tired at my own wedding?"

"You can do whatever you want."

It's his turn to smirk. He offers her the fresh pack he's dug from his inside pocket, a cigarette already between his teeth; she declines, but lights him up regardless. They stand in silence for a few minutes, Lucy's eyes on him, Natsu's half-lidded as he blows plumes of smoke out lazily.

"You do look pretty tired, though," she observes eventually. "All worn out."

He looks faintly angry when he looks at her. "So do you."

"I'm not."

"So you say."

"I'm fine, idiot." Lucy stretches her bare arms above her head. It's a mildly cold night. "I'm always fine, aren't I?"

"Mmm."

"Natsu—"

"Yeaaah." He takes the cigarette between his fingers. "You're fine, you're fine. I can see that."

Silence settles again when Lucy doesn't respond. She narrows her eyes furiously, rolling them when she realises that Natsu is now closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the bricks as if trying to sleep.

The words slip out. "Congratulations." His eyes don't open. "O-On your wedding." She waits for him to say something. He doesn't. She sucks her teeth for a moment before continuing, "Lisanna seems happy."

It works. "What are you doing mentioning her for?" he growls. The anger is more apparent in his eyes now, the gray smouldering coldly. "Are you really going to do this?"

_Is she really going to do this?_

Lucy goes on carelessly, "You guys looked so cute when you were feeding the cake to each other, I almost cried, seriously. You're perfect together. I'm sure you'll be really happy, even—"

"—_the fuck_ do you think you're saying? You—"

"—sick, I know you guys will get through it. You're strong like that, you know? And you finally found a girl who can put up with you—"

"—stop it, Lucy—"

"—only hope she'll be able to handle your—"

"—fucking _stop it, Lucy_!" His hands slam her wrists to the bricks by her head, giving her stinging grazes. Her breathing speeds up when she realises how close he is to her. His own breath is hot and fast against her cheek, his eyes dark and terrifying. He probably doesn't realise that his body is pressing against hers with more force than needed to pin her to the wall.

But after a few seconds, she recovers from the shock and regains her breath, and she's starts again. "Lucky you, Natsu," she whispers, grinning at him wickedly, "to have found such a perfect life partner so young. I only hope you enjoy the time— _Ahh_!"

Lucy flinches into the wall, her arms pushing against Natsu's when he scrapes them harshly against the stone. She glares at him, refusing to be intimidated by the fury she finds on his face. It's only now that she realises she's shaking.

_Is she really going to do this?_

"I told you…" He leans, impossibly, closer to her so that his face is only a few inches from hers. "To shut the…" — the heat of his body is all-consuming — "…fuck…" — his lips brush against hers — "up."

They kiss like they hate each other.

Lucy does.

"Cheater cheater," she breaths into his mouth when he finally pulls back. He's panting as hard she is, but her cheeks are more flushed. She is much more aware of him against her. Lord knows she can tell he is.

"Lucy." Natsu's voice is a growl. Before she can respond, he's devouring her again.

He's always doing things like this. He's the one who started the game, after all; he's the one who taught her the thrill of waking up with bruises, and leaving the scar of her teeth on his shoulder. He's the one who taught her to kiss another man with her eyes wide open, challenging him across the room to take it further.

He's the one. Natsu's the one. _He started it._ But is she really going to do this? Isn't this too far? Isn't it too much?

She has to press her lips together when his teeth find purchase on her neck.

.

.

.

.

.

"You should go back inside."

"You're right."

"Lisanna will be waiting for you."

"Not yet."

"Hey…"

"I will, I'll go. Soon."

"'Kay."

…

"It's cold."

"Yeah. Your dress is short."

"Shut up."

"Ha…"

.

.

.

.

.

His lips move to form words against the base of her throat before he lets out a shallow breath. He pulls her away from the wall just in time to feel her shudder into him, holding her closer than what should be possible for one tiny, tiny moment, before pushing her away almost _roughly_. The grin he gives her is twisted, full of a craving that she still doesn't understand.

She doesn't move when he turns away from her without a backwards glance, clutching his suit jacket to her shoulders. The door closes behind him loudly, echoing some false sense of finality, leaving her alone in streetlamp darkness once again.

He is a ghost on her skin. _I love you, Lucy Heartfilia._

She knows, of course. He can only hurt her like this because he does.

.

.

.

.

.

Natsu.

He is to her as whiskey is to the most hopeless alcoholic.

She hates him. With every fibre of her being, she hates him. She hates the nights he leaves, and for making her cry. He hates him for marrying someone that isn't her, and for his kindness to everyone else. She hates him for the pain he demands.

With her entire existence, Lucy hates Natsu Dragneel. He is the worst thing that ever happened to her. She doesn't even remember what it's like to _not_ hate him — what it's like to live a life where he isn't at the forefront of her mind, concocting scheme after scheme to hurt her and hold her. He is ingrained into her.

He is a part of her like the scars he leaves.

.

.

.

.

.

The phone rings for almost two minutes before he picks up. She's used to it.

"I can't believe you're calling me on the first night of my honeymoon," he whispers in hushed laughter.

"…"

"Well? What do you want?"

"…"

"I'm waiting here."

"…I —…"

"It's 2am, Lucy."

"You still picked up."

"I happened to be awake."

"Why?"

"Didn't I already say it's my honeymoon?"

Her throat closes up. God, she fucking _hates_ him. "I— I have to tell you."

"…"

"I'm… I'm…" _Is she really going to do this?_ "I'm—…"

"Are you done?"

She almost drops the phone. "Nn!?"

Natsu's voice is too casual. "Did I take it too far? I've been wondering for a while. Most girls would have left ages ago, but you… well, you stayed. You've passed test after test. But I didn't expect you to put up with this one."

"…"

"Lisanna says the doctors give her about six months. If it's good news."

"That's awful."

"…"

"…"

"She wanted me to fulfil a promise we made when we were ten. That's the truth."

"…You're too kind, Natsu."

"…"

"…"

"Say something."

"I don't know what to say."

"You're the one who called."

"…"

"Please, say something."

"…"

"Lucy, I need you to say something."

"_You need me to_."

"I do."

"You have a fucked up way of showing it."

"…"

"I think you're right, you know. I think… It's too much. I d-do… I do _love you_. And I know you know that's why I've… s-stuck around. Because you— we, I don't know, we… whatever this…"

"Lucy—"

"You _did_ take it too far, Natsu. I can't—…_-hic-_ I can't _deal _with _-hic- _this anymore…"

"Lucy—"

"You made me _-hic- _come to your _wedding_—"

"I know, Lucy, I know."

"You made me write a _speech_. I caught the fucking _bouquet_, Natsu_._ At _your_ _wedding_! _-hic-_ You made me stand alone through _-hic- _the father-daughter w-waltz. Y-You made love to me i-in an _-hic-_ alleyway!"

"…"

" A-Aren't you going to say something?"

"…Don't cry, Lucy."

"You're the one who _made_ me cry!"

"…H-Hah…"

"I'm… I'm really done now, Natsu. I'm s-sorry— I'm _so, so sorry_, but I can't… I just can't… _-hic-_ t-take this anymore. It's been… like, three y-years now or something. I really thought I could—… _but I can't_. _I can't._ I can't do it anymore, Natsu. I can't remember how to _care_ about anything else anymore."

"…"

"…"

"I need you, Lucy."

"Then will you _stop_? Can we just... be n-normal?"

"...Please don't leave."

"Natsu, you're not—"

"I love you."

"…"

"I love you."

"..."

She hangs up.

_But isn't that's the problem, Natsu?_

.

.

.

.

.

She wakes up and remembers. His arm is around her waist; he is tangled in the sheets of her bed, his clothes strewn across her room.

"Of course I'm not leaving you, idiot," she whispiers, pressing a kiss to his messy hair. "I wouldn't know how."

He hides his smile in her pillow.

And they go on, and on, and on.

:

**FIN**


End file.
